


And I'm dying just to feel you breathe.

by barthelme



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Androids, Happy Ending, I promise, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2020-10-12 06:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme
Summary: Timmy is supposed to dispose of defective androids, not fall in love with them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The electric things have their lives, too.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275979) by [barthelme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme). 

The job is simple. 

"These are the rejects," the guy explains, jerking his thumb toward the large warehouse behind them. It sits on the edge of the company's property, clustered together with a small office building and what looks to have been a storefront at one time. None of it is shiny and modern like the large building where Timmy interviewed last week. As they made small talk on the walk over, it was explained that this is where the original factory was, but now it's used as storage. "We need you to take a picture of each model," he holds up a tablet, "Then attach a memo to each picture that lists the reasons for rejection, which is attached to their left wrist. You don't have to list every reason, just the objective ones." 

"Objective ones?" Timmy asks. 

The guy nods. "Small calves? Subjective. Violent? Objective." 

"Got it," he nods. Tucks his hair behind his ear. Rocks back on his heels, then forward onto the balls of his feet. Settles. "So, then what?"

Another nod, this one quick. "Once you document a 'droid, you drag it to the loading zone." He stops and Timmy watches as he seems to pull and push an idea around. Clicks his tongue in his cheek and says, "Some people are okay with turning them on so they can walk to the loading zone, but," he cringes. "We've had issues with people getting attached." 

Timmy blinks. He gets it. Dragging it is.

"So, you drag them to the loading zone and twice a day someone will be by to take them for disposal."

He hands the tablet to Timmy who says, "Okay, and then what?"

The guy shrugs. Frowns. "That's it. Any questions?"

Timmy shakes his head. "So, is anyone else--"

"No, you're on your own. Feel free to listen to music or whatever. I don't think any of them will complain," he laughs, and it sounds cruel, but Timmy brushes it off. "Now, I have to get back. There's a phone near the front door that is a direct line to the main office. If you need anything, call and they will help you out. You get an hour lunch at one, but you have to stay on site. Cafeteria is--"

"I know," Timmy assures him. "I asked for a tour when I interviewed." 

The guys nods and then he's gone. Back away a few steps before turning on his heel and leaving. 

Timmy looks up at the warehouse. Reminds himself that a job is a job and rent is already a week past due. 

_____

It's not like he expected. Not at all. Timmy had imagined the androids would be in rows like jars on a store shelf. Instead, they're in piles. Heaping mounds of naked flesh, limbs tangled and faces pressed into backs of knees. 

He starts with the pile furthest from the loading zone. Pulls a body from the pile, careful to not disturb the others. That's just what he needs on his first day: causing an avalanche of androids that he somehow gets stuck under. This android is a woman. Thin, but curvy. He breasts jiggle as he tugs her onto the concrete and he moves slowly, not wanting to scratch her back. Realizes that's such a dumb thing to worry about. He pulls her until he can get a picture of her from the neck up without having other androids in the picture. 

Types, "Kept Repeating Names," in the memo before pressing, 'Save,' and turning back to the pile.

He doesn't listen to music. He tries to, but the warehouse is filled with bodies that look asleep and it feels rude. Obnoxious, even. So, he works in silence, the only sound the click as he takes a picture, soft taps as he types things like "Too Clumsy," "No Voice," "Walked in Circles." Grunts and sighs as he drags bodies to the loading zone. They are not as heavy as a human counterpart would be, but they are still wires and metal held together with flesh. Solid, especially some of the larger models. But the time he has made a dent in the first pile, Timmy is sweating. His shirt clings to his back and he reminds himself to tie is hair up tomorrow. Maybe he can ask for a rubber band from the office on his break.

At first, he tries to line the bodies neatly. Shoulder to shoulder in a row. After an hour, though, they're taking up too much room and he is forced to pile them on top of one another, arms trembling when the stacks get higher and higher. 

He understands the appeal of turning them on, but doesn't do it. 

_____

The disposal crew comes right as Timmy is leaving for lunch. There are two of them and what looks like a moving van. They idle in the loading zone and grab body after body. One takes their shoulders, the other their feet, and they swing them onto the truck. Body after body. The sick thud of limp flesh hitting flesh. Timmy asks when they come back for the second load and is glad to hear it's after his shift is done.  
_____

The girl at the front desk is pretty and has a nice smile. Her hair is in a low ponytail. When Timmy walks in, she puts her elbows on the desk and says, "Timothée, right?" 

He nods and hopes he doesn't look too sweaty. He'd checked his reflection in the mirrors on the elevator's ceiling and thought he'd looked okay for someone who had been lugging around dead weight all day. "How did you--"

"You don't have a uniform like the rest of us," she explained, pulling on the collar of her stark white button-up. "Figured you were the new guy. I'm Saoirse."

Timmy glances down a his grey v-neck. "Am I supposed to have a uniform?" 

She shakes her head. "You guys don't normally last--" She stops and licks her lips. "You look like you need something. What can I do for you?"

Timmy runs a hand through his hair. "Do you have a rubber band? I need it to--"

And she yanks the elastic from her hair and holds it out. Thrusts it when he hesitates. "Takes it," she says. "It's air conditioned in here." 

"Thanks," he says. Gathers his hair at the nap of his neck and binds it. A few curls don't reach so he pushes them behind his ear. "I'm going to lunch?"

She points down the hall. "You've got an hour."

"Are you--"

"Already ate," she says, and then the phone rings and she winks at him. Picks it up. "Chambers Manufacturing, this is Saoirse, how can I help you?"

She winks again when Timmy waves. Walks down the hall to the cafeteria.

_____

Timmy gets a grilled cheese and some french fries. Sits in the corner and tries not to look around too much.

_____

After his break, Timmy walks back to the warehouse. He stands in the doorway and looks at the empty loading dock. The piles of bodies. Closes his eyes and goes to work. 

_____

Timmy drops another body ("Monotone Voice") by the loading dock and wipes his brow. Walks back to the pile he's been working on which has dwindled to five bodies. He grabs one by the ankles and starts pulling, but it doesn't budge. He yanks. It doesn't move. 

His eyes scan from the ankles in his hands, to legs scattered with blond hair and tight calves. Thick but firm thighs and--Timmy looks away and sighs--a proportionate cock. Tapered waist and broad shoulders and.

And. 

"Oh," Timmy says when he realizes why the body isn't moving. His head is stuck between the leg of another android. He drops the ankles and moves to untangle them. Lifts the thigh of another android and comes face to face with blue eyes. 

He jumps back and drops the other android's leg. It obscures the eyes and Timmy breathes out. 

"Fuck," he says. He moves back and lifts the leg. The eyes are still there and it's just an accident, he's sure. The lids got forced open when the android was jostled in the pile. He wrestles the body free and starts pulling it toward the empty space of concrete. 

Timmy sighs when the body is free. It was heavy. Bigger than others. He's dreading putting it on the loading dock. 

He takes the picture and grabs their wrist where a tag hangs. Unlike the others, there aren't multiple problems listed. It simply says, "Defective."

"Weird," he says, but he types it in and then startles because-- "The fuck," he murmurs. Leans in. Did this android just blink at him? 

The eyes are wide and beautiful. They did a good job on this one. He's blond and blue eyesd. Tall and solid, but not intimidating. 

Timmy swipes his hands over the android's eyelids. They close and he sighs. It's almost time to go home. 

He moves to grip the android's legs. To pull him to the loading zone. He's heavier than most, but Timmy is able to move him until--

"Don't."

Timmy drops the legs and backs away. "Fuck," he breathes. He watches as the android blinks. Wonders if he accidentally turned him on or if he'd been awake the entire time in that pile. Hopes it was an accident. "Fuck, fuck," he says, watching the android blink. 

"Please don't put me back there," he says. And then he lifts his head to look at Timmy. "It's dark there."


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry," Timmy says and he rushes forward, kneeling with his hand outstretched to find the button he knows is tucked behind the android's left ear. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, fuck, I'm--"

"I'll do anything," the android says just before Timmy touches him. But he says it like this: I'll. Do. 

_Anything,_ and the cynical part of Timmy's mind thinks, _Yeah, you're an android. You'll do whatever I tell you._ But this is different. This isn't submission. It's desperation. 

And it makes Timmy freeze. Makes his fingers curl back into his palm and his fist to press against his lips. He murmurs, "I'm so sorry," while clenching his eyes shut and knowing he needs to turn him off. He needs to press the button and be done with this and--

"Please."

Timmy opens his eyes. Reaches his hand back towards the android and presses his palm against his cheek. He's unexpectedly warm. The android turns his face into Timmy's hand, lips grazing his thumb. He closes his eyes and sighs. Looks calm considering how desperate he sounded. He exhales and his head is heavy against Timmy. 

Timmy says, "I'm sorry," and slides his fingers back to press the button. 

The android's eyes dart open for a second before snapping closed. 

He goes limp and Timmy withdraws his hand. Sits back on his calves and wipes a hand across his brow. 

"Fuck." 

_____

He leaves the android where he is. Starts moving others. Cautiously taps each one first before grabbing hold and pulling them, slowly, to the ground. 

Timmy tries not to think about the other android, but the harder he attempts to ignore it, the more questions he has. Why was the android on? As far as Timmy knows (he doesn't have much experience with androids; his family never bought one. Claimed they made people lazy and entitled. Cruel.) the only way to turn one on or off is the button behind their ear. And he hadn't pressed it. Or had he? When he was getting him unstuck, when he was prying him loose. Had Timmy turned him on accidentally?

Or had he been awake this whole time? For at least all morning and most of the afternoon. Maybe longer. Buried in that pile of bodies, listening to Timmy drag android after android to the concrete. Take their picture, tap, tap, tap. Drag. 

Had he heard the thud of body after body being tossed into the truck? Heard the truck drive off? 

Fuck. 

Timmy turns his back to the loading zone. Scans the android. He seems bigger than most of the others. Long with a bit more heft to his shoulders. A broadness that most androids lack. Sure, there is a demand for thicker androids. With curves and hips, soft bellies and full cheeks. Those are usually shorter, though. 

Most are lithe. Slight enough that one would assume they could be knocked over when needed. Controlled. 

Of course, it's just a marketing scheme, which Timmy knows. If androids looked like they could ever overtake someone (even if there was no chance they could. That's why this warehouse exists; the rules and regulations regarding android manufacturing are rigid. One wrong trait and they're scrapped. Tossed in a warehouse to be cataloged and disposed. Too loud? Warehouse. Trip on stairs? Loading zone. Make too much eye contact? Not enough? Truck.) they may not sell as well. 

The androids that sell are the ones that look like they can be hurt. 

This android looks like he was made to fool someone. 

Timmy wipes his brow and stands up. Looks at the pile of androids on the loading zone. Checks the clock by the door. His day is done in fifteen minutes. 

He walks back to where the android is; he can't just leave it there. It will look sloppy on his first day. It's an easy job. Easy money, which he desperately needs. He thinks about his empty fridge, the stack of various colored bills on his counter (none of them first-notice white anymore). Thinks about how he has been avoiding his landlord for weeks now. 

He can't be bad at this job. He can't be fired. Not from this. 

Then he scans the android's body. From his ankles, to his knees. Tries not to, but lets his eyes stutter where his soft cock lays between his thick thighs. Continues his journey up to his face. Timmy kneels down and tentatively reaches out. Half expects the android's eyes to flash open again. For him to speak. But when Timmy's fingers tough the bridge of his nose, he just feels cold flesh. 

He slides his finger up his forehead. Traces it down along his temple, his jaw. Stops at his chin. Thinks, _This is what people used to sculpt,_ and means it. 

The android belongs in a museum, not the back of a truck. 

Timmy stands up and looks around. He didn't ask because at the time he didn't have a reason to. Now, it would just be suspicious. But, he looks around and doesn't see any cameras. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary for there to be cameras in a warehouse like this. However, he knows there are cameras all over the grounds. Scanners at every entrance. Guards stationed at check points and doors. 

Nothing gets in or out without Chambers Manufacturing being aware of it. There's probably no need for cameras in this old warehouse. 

Timmy hooks his arms under the android's armpits and pulls him to another pile. Drops him up halfway. 

Drapes another body's arm over his face and steps back. Compares the pile to the pile next to it. The android's body stands out, but only (Timmy thinks, hopes, pleads) because he's looking for those calves, that cock. 

(_What is wrong with you,_ Timmy worries. _Your mother would be so upset if she found out you were thinking about an android this way._)

No, it's perfect. It's hidden. Tomorrow, he will deal with it. Not today. 

He hears the truck's engine approaching. Then the beeping of it backing up to the loading zone. He walks away from the piles and tries to nonchalantly wave at one of the men who jumps down and grabs the first body. "Have a nice night," the guy says, and Timmy tries to get out of ear range before he has to listen to the sickening thud of a body being tossed into the truck. 

He isn't fast enough and he flinches. 

No, not today.


	3. Chapter 3

Timmy goes home. 

He goes home to his dark apartment. Opens the door and immediately steps on brightly colored envelopes that have been pushed through the mail slot. Sighs and kicks his shoes off. Bends down to pick them up. Electricity, water, rent. A doctor's bill. 

He tosses them on the counter and turns on the kitchen light. It flickers and he opens the fridge. 

It’s empty except for a large container of yogurt. He scoops some into a bowl and eats it while he stands in the middle of the kitchen. 

Tosses the bowl into the sink and then opens the envelopes. Spreads the bills across the laminate and crooks his lips to the side. He can’t even pay half of one of them. 

He'll get his first check on Friday.

He stacks the bills and then tries not to think about the thud of bodies that will pay them. 

____

In bed, Timmy blinks at the ceiling. Toys with the waistband of his boxers, but doesn’t let his fingers dip below. Doesn’t let himself think about the android. Not his bright eyes or firm jaw or solid thighs or, fuck, not his cock. Not the ease with which he was naked which, Timmy knows, is because androids don't know shame. It has nothing to do with being comfortable with another person. 

“Shit,” he whispers and slaps his palm against the mattress before rolling on his side and tucking his arm under his pillow. 

He closes his eyes, but he doesn’t sleep, not really. He doesn’t sleep because every time he closes his eyes, he thinks of the terror in those blue eyes, the pleading, “Please don’t put me back there.” 

It’s dark there, it’s dark there, it’s so fucking dark. 

_____

In the morning, Timmy stands in the doorway of the warehouse. It seems larger than yesterday, but all he can see is a long calf and thin ankle. He goes to a different pile and pulls down a tanned body. Takes the picture, documents the tag (“Poor Grammar.”) 

Drags it to the loading zone. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, but then he hears a voice from outside. A voice that gets louder and then suddenly there is a man he’s never seen before walking in. Nodding at Timmy and saying, “I need to borrow one of these for a bit,” and gesturing at the piles. 

Timmy scratches his neck and watches the guy--he’s short and balding and looks like he spends his days in a bare cubicle--as he walks to a pile and scans the bodies. Picks up an arm, a leg. Finds what he’s looking for and checks the tag on the wrist. 

Presses the button behind their ear and when they wake up, he grips their bicep and guides them away. Away, towards the back of the warehouse where there are some storage rooms, a bathroom. Timmy hasn’t explored them, even though he thinks he's more than welcome to. 

Timmy watches them disappear into the dark and runs his thumb along his lower lip. Looks over at the android’s ankle and thinks _I need to hide him better._

_____

At lunch, Timmy stops at the desk again and asks, “Is it normal for people to take androids?”

Saoirse rests her chin on her palm. Says, “What do you mean?” 

Timmy pushes his hands in his pockets and says, “I mean, someone came into the warehouse today and said they needed to--”

“Borrow an android?” she offers. 

Timmy nods. 

Saoirse rolls her eyes. “So gross,” she says and sits back. Timmy wrinkles his nose, his disgusting assumption confirmed. “You remembered a hair tie today,” she notes.

He nods and asks, “Have you already had lunch?”

She nods. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirms. Taps the desk and then walks off. 

____

Before Timmy eats, he puts his napkin in his pocket. He eats quickly and goes back to the warehouse well before his break is over. Pulls his android down and grabs the napkin from his pocket. 

Drapes it over the androids groin and then presses the button behind his ear. 

The android wakes up with a start and blinks at Timmy. Opens his mouth but snaps it shut. Sits up and glares at Timmy. 

“Hey,” Timmy says. 

“I told you not to put me back there,” the android says. His eyes narrow and he seems to process Timmy’s face, his neck. He snaps his focus back to Timmy’s eyes. 

“I--”

He bends his neck. Stretches his fingers. Stands up, the napkin fluttering to the ground and he literally towers above Timmy who feels obligated to pull himself to his feet. “I told you not to put me back there,” he repeats. Looks towards the door where sunlight is streaming in. “I don’t like it there and I don’t want to go back.” 

“You have to go back,” Timmy insists and the android’s eye focus on him. Timmy has to look away. 

He’s handsome. All androids are handsome, pretty, beautiful. No one wants an average android. But this one is exceptional. 

“What?” he asks, and even his voice is different. Better. God, Timmy needs to hide him so well. 

Timmy swallows. “You have to go back. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“I can’t go back,” he says and his eyes dart back to the open door, the sunshine, then to Timmy. Softens, and when he speaks next, Timmy wants to do anything he asks. “Please, Sir, I can’t go back. I’ll do anything you want,” he whispers and then reaches a hand towards Timmy’s crotch. 

Timmy grabs his wrist and keeps him away, even though he wants to pull him closer. Wants to borrow him, but more than that, wants to hide him and he doesn’t know where this is coming from. Wonders if he’d feel this way if any other android had woken up. If he’d be wanting to tuck them away, keep them around. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s my job and I--”

“I need to talk to Liz,” he explains.

“Liz?” Timmy asks. He’s still holding the android’s wrist; his skin is warm and Timmy imagines a pulse. It’s probably his own. “I don’t know Liz.”

He hears a truck in the distance and, fuck, they’re early today. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry but they’re coming and if they see you awake--” he stops because he doesn’t actually know what they’ll do. 

Armie looks back at the door and see the truck starting to turn around so it can back into the loading area. He drops to his knees and tilts his head to the side, still managing to keep his gaze on Timmy. He looks scared and Timmy almost tells him to just lay down and be quiet. 

Instead, asks, “Do you have a name?”

He swallows and nods. “She called me Armie.”

Timmy strokes his hand across his cheek and says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Armie. I promise.”

Armie’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something else, to ask a question, but Timmy presses the button and he goes limp. 

Before his shift ends, two more people come to borrow androids and Timmy keeps an eye on them as they choose. One passes by where he has tucked Armie under a torso, a thigh, and Timmy’s heart races for a second. Seems to stop when the person pauses and, fuck, what will he do if they try to borrow Armie? If they turn him on and take him to the back and--

Timmy doesn’t want to think about it, but it’s also impossible to stop his brain from flashing images of Armie on his knees. 

_____

That night, Timmy can’t help himself. Tells himself it’s fine because he isn’t like those other people. He wouldn’t take Armie into one of the back rooms and he wouldn’t force him to his knees. Tell him to open up and--

No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do any of that. 

Instead, he imagines Armie (and, god, the name sounds so nice on his tongue. Armie, Armie, _Armie_) next to him. Sleepy from a long day, his hand resting on Timmy’s lower abdomen. Stroking down to cup him through his boxers, whispering, “I missed you today,” and then kissing the side of Timmy’s jaw, his neck, his shoulder. Slipping his hand into Timmy’s boxers and stroking him until he’s hard, until Timmy’s turning his mouth into his lips and they’re lazily kissing. 

It doesn’t take long for him to come and once he’s pulled his boxers off and wiped himself clean, he feels awful. Doesn’t know if he will be able to wake Armie up tomorrow without the guilt of using him, even just mentally, flooding his senses. 

He knows he will because he can hear Armie saying, eventually, when Timmy would get the nerve to face him, “You promised.” 

He tries to sleep, tries to tell himself it’s just an android, that if it wasn’t Armie it would be another defective android that he was thinking about. Who he was pretending to kiss in the dark. 

God, it’s so dark in his bedroom.

_____

The next day, Timmy eats lunch with Saoirse. They talk about how long she’s worked here (two years) and how she hopes to one day move up to the main offices. “You know, still answering phones but it would be more confidential. More responsibility. How about you? Hoping to get out of the warehouse soon, I bet.” 

Timmy shrugs and takes a bite of pudding. “I don’t mind it. It’s peaceful.”

She grimaces and looks like she wants to ask a question, but holds herself back. He remembers what she’d said before about people not lasting long in the warehouse. Licks her lips and says, “Well, it can be exhausting, I’ve heard. Physically and otherwise.”

He nods and they finish their lunches in a casual silence. On the walk back to her desk, Timmy clears his throat and asks, “You must know most of the people that work here, right?”

She slides behind the desk and twists back and forth in her chair. “I guess, why?” 

“Do you know anyone named Liz?”

Saoirse laughs and claps her hand over her mouth like Timmy’s told a great joke. Slips it away and taps her fingers on her chin. “Oh, you’re serious,” she says. “Well, first, don’t _ever_ let her hear you call her Liz. It’s Elizabeth if she likes you, but Ms. Chambers to be on the safe side.”

“Chambers?” Timmy repeats. 

Saoirse nods. “You’ll probably never meet her, so you don’t need to worry. Why?”

Timmy’s heart pounds and he unties his hair to give his hands something to do. Runs his fingers through his curls before pulling it back up and tying it too tightly. His scalp prickles. “No reason. Just heard the name in the warehouse. Lunch again tomorrow?” He asks and she nods. 

_____

When Timmy gets back to the warehouse, the truck is pulling away. Timmy waves and then scans the open space between the warehouse and the main building. There’s no one to be seen, so he goes inside and pulls Armie out, the weight of his body becoming familiar.

This time, when Armie’s eyes blink open, he looks surprised, like he hadn’t thought Timmy would keep his promise. “Why are you doing this?” He asks and crosses his legs. Timmy keeps his eyes on Armie’s face. His cheeks burn a bit when he remembers how soft he’d imagined his lips to be, his tongue, his hands. 

“I don’t know,” Timmy admits. He wants to know how Armie knows Liz, why he would call her Liz. It seems odd that someone who prefers to be called Elizabeth or Ms. Chambers would let an android call her Liz. He crosses his legs as well and reaches out for Armie’s wrist. Taps the tag and asks, “All the other androids have a specific reason for being in here. Yours just says defective. Do you know why that would be?” 

Armie holds his wrist up and the tag dangles in front of his face. He mouths the word like he’s learning it and then lowers his hand. His brows furrow and he says, “But she always said I was so good.”

“So, you don’t know why?” 

Armie shakes his head. Looks around and asks, “All of these androids are defective?”

Timmy nods slowly. Doesn’t want to answer too many questions about the warehouse. Doesn’t want to make the dark even scarier for Armie when he has to go back there. “I don’t think you belong here,” he admits. Believes it, partially. “I think there’s been a mistake, and I am going to figure it out, okay?”

He reaches forward and puts his hand on Armie’s knee. Pats the skin softly and tries to get Armie to focus on anything but the piles of bodies. “You promise?” Armie asks. 

Timmy should probably stop making promises to an android, but he nods and confirms. “I promise I’ll figure it out.”

God, he hopes he can figure this out. 

_____

At the end of the day, he checks to make sure Armie is hidden under bodies. Moves an arm away from his face and traces a finger along Armie’s stiff lower lip. Even paralyzed by sleep, he’s remarkable. Timmy imagines kneeling down and kissing him. 

Covers him back up and leaves before the truck gets there for their final pick up of the day.


	4. Chapter 4

On Friday, Timmy goes to collect his check. Leans over the desk and watches as Saoirse rifles through a thin file. “Most people have their checks deposited,” she notes as she pulls out an envelope and then pushes the drawer shut. 

“I don’t have a checking account,” Timmy says and reaches out to snatch the envelope from her, but she’s quick. Pulls it back. He rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Come on, come on.” 

She leans back in her chair, the spine of it creaking as it bends. Taps the edge of the envelope on the desk and says, “What are your plans this weekend?”

“My plans?” Timmy questions. She nods and he says, “I don’t really have plans.”

“Hmm,” she hums and asks, “Well, what if you came over to mine for dinner tomorrow?”

Timmy swallows. “I’m sorry if I--”

“As a _friend_,” Saoirse rolls her eyes and slides the envelope across the desk to him. “I’m not an idiot.” 

“A friend?” Timmy asks. He can’t remember the last time he did something as a friend. 

She nods and turns back to her computer. “Feel free to bring beer or a date,” she says. 

“Oh, I don’t have--”

“I know,” she winks. “But you could still bring the beer. So, are you in?”

Timmy shrugs and slides the envelope back to her, face down. “Write down your address,” he requests. Adds, “And phone number, just in case.”

_____

The truck is pulling away as Timmy approaches the warehouse. He waves at the driver whose face has become synonymous with thuds and disappearance and emptiness. His lips form a thin smile and he watches it drive away. Thumping over bumps and, inside, Timmy can imagine the bodies jostling together. Limbs coming lose to slap against bare flesh. 

He stands in the entrance. Tries to remember what the piles looked like on his first day. Has he even made a dent?

He hasn’t thought much about when more bodies come. As far as he knows, there have been no additions since his first day. But it doesn’t look like he’s made a dent in the piles. They still loom over him, haystacks of limbs. If he squints, they just look like nude hills, and yet he knows where to find the flesh he wants. 

Timmy looks over his shoulder to make sure there is no one walking to the warehouse. It has become more common for people to stop in and borrow an android. Each time, Timmy feels sick to his stomach. Worries that this time, next time, any time, they will pick Armie. 

And why wouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t they see his long arms and elegant fingers and want them around their body, their cock? Why wouldn’t they see his eyes and want them staring up at them? 

Why wouldn’t they see his stature and need him bending to their every whim? 

Timmy licks his lips and grabs a random body. 

_____

Timmy waits until the truck comes at the end of the day. “You’re still here?” the driver asks, and Timmy wipes the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. 

“Yeah, I took a longer lunch,” he lies. “Didn’t want to get behind.”

He watches as the driver and his associate start grabbing bodies. Tossing them into the bed of the truck. “There will be a delivery on Monday,” the driver notes. “Doesn’t look big, but,” he shrugs. _Thud._ “Best to keep on top of things,” he explains. 

Timmy nods. “You guys have a nice weekend,” he says and walks to the bathroom in the back of the warehouse. Stares in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed from exertion and he turns the faucet on. Splashes water on his face, then runs his hands through his hair. Smooths the frizz of his curls and tries to tuck them behind his ears. 

Lifts his arm and sniffs into the fold of his pit and decides that will do.

_____

By the time he pulls Armie down, the shadows are long and the air is chilly. He wonders if anyone will notice that he’s here late, but he realizes that no one even notices when he’s here on time or at all, He doubts he’s on anyone’s radar. 

He presses Armie on and can’t help but smile when his eyes blink open. “You came back,” Armie says. He sits up straight and reaches down to scratch at his lower abdomen. Timmy doesn’t let his eyes go south. “Did you figure out why I’m here?”

Straight to the point. Timmy shakes his head. “No, but I’m hoping to this weekend,” he lies. 

Armie’s head cocks to the side. “This weekend?” His brows furrow. “You won’t be here tomorrow?”

Timmy kneels next to him and shakes his head. “No,but I’ll be--”

“What if--” Armie looks around, his eyes focusing on limbs and bodies, hair, faces.

“Nothing will happen,” Timmy assures him. Reaches out and squeezes Armie’s arm. He’s solid, but soft. “I’ll come back Monday and hopefully have figured out why--”

“I’ve been thinking,” Armie admits like a secret. “I think Liz is mad at me.” 

“You’ve been thinking?” Timmy questions. He’s assumed that when he turns an android off, they just cease to really exist. That they go blank like a mid afternoon nap. “Armie, when--” Timmy stops himself. 

Thinks. 

Timmy lets his hand slide down to Armie’s elbow. Cups the skin and bone and asks, “Where do you go?” He moves closer and lets his knees bump Armie’s thigh. 

Armie blinks at him like he doesn’t understand. “Where do I go?”

Timmy nods. Runs his thumb over Armie’s elbow while he brings his free hand to his fingers. Is happy when Armie laces their fingers together and tries to pretend this is natural, not programmed. “Yes. What happens?”

“It goes dark,” Armie says. Squeezes Timmy’s hands and says, “So dark. And the only thing I can do is think.”

“What do you think about?”

Armie blinks. “I think about why I’m here. What I did. What I think I did. About Liz.” He swallows and admits, “Now, I think about you, too.” 

Timmy wants to know what Armie thinks about him, but instead he asks, “Why do you think Liz is mad?”

“I couldn’t give her what she wanted,” he says. “I couldn’t be what she wanted,” he explains. And Timmy thinks that’s ridiculous because he can’t think of anything he’d want more than Armie. 

“Armie, that’s--” Timmy starts, but Armie’s back is suddenly straight and he’s leaning forward. 

“It’s the truth.”

Timmy nods. Says, “Armie, I need to get going.” He’s expecting some push back, but Armie just nods. Tilts his head to reveal the button. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

“Monday,” Armie confirms, and Timmy reaches out and turns him off. Slides his hand to the back of Armie’s head and gently guides his body to the ground. 

Today, Armie’s lips are partially open and Timmy can’t help himself. He leans down and presses his lips against Armie’s.

Finds disappointment in their firm coldness.  
_____

On Saturday, Saoirse doesn’t open the door. Timmy is greeted by a tall brunette in a robe. A tall brunette in need of a shower and a shave. At least a trim. “Hey,” the guy says, then lets the door hang open as he walks into the apartment. Timmy walks in and sets the six pack of beer on the kitchen counter. Hears the door click closed behind him. 

“Is Saoirse--”

“She just finished showering,” the guys says. He picks up a beer from the end table and sits in front of the television. 

“Okay,” Timmy says, and looks around. The apartment is similar to his own, except there are pictures. Pictures of people and places. Animals. Everywhere. 

He puts his hands in his pockets and says, “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”

“Roommate,” the guys offers. Turns his head and slips an introduction over his shoulder. “Nick. Timmy, right?”

Timmy nods. 

“New warehouse guy, yeah?” Nick asks as he sips his beer. 

“Yeah,” Timmy admits. He toes his shoes off, unsure if that is the protocol. “And you--”

“Timmy!” Saoirse announces, emerging from a doorway from the back. If this was Timmy’s place and it was a one bedroom apartment, it would be his room. “You came,” she says and her hair is wet but combed back from her face. She’s wearing jeans and a tank top and she looks at home; Timmy feels overdressed in his jeans and button up. She slides her phone from her pocket and asks, “Do you like pizza?”

He does.

____

They’ve finished half the beer and all the pizza when Timmy leans closer to Saoirse and says, “So, I hate to be that person.”

And Nick perks up from his spot on the couch. Tucks his knees in and looks over his shoulder. 

“But, what do you know about the warehouse?”

Saoirse bites the edge of a piece of crust. “The warehouse? Well, you’ve lasted longer than most people,” she notes. 

“I’ve only--”

Nick interjects, “They usually last days.”

“Days?” Timmy asks. 

Saoirse shrugs. Swallows the last bite of her pizza and pushes her plate away. “I mean, it’s hard labor.” 

“The labor isn’t what’s hard,” Nick says. He stands up and swallows down the last of his beer. Puts it on the counter with the other empties and then opens the fridge. “All those bodies? Just stacked like they’re nothing? And the sound they make when--”

“Nick,” Saoirse warns. Points at his beer. “Last one.” 

He rolls his eyes, but something tells Timmy that he’ll listen to her. “And the _reasons_ they’re dumped? What’s the dumbest one you’ve seen, Timmy? Eyes are too blue? Foot arch too flat?” 

Timmy licks his lips and shakes his head a bit. “I’m sorry, do you work there, too?”

“Don’t listen to Nick. He’s just a disgruntled former employee,” Saoirse says, her voice playful. 

“Oh shut up,” Nick says. He toys with the pocket of his robe and smiles at Saoirse. “You get the easy job of answering phones and turning a blind eye to everything.” Then, to Timmy, he explains, “I used to work in quality control. All that information you record? I had to catalogue. What’s the dumbest--how do they phrase it? Oh, right. What’s the dumbest reason for rejection you’ve come across?”

Saoirse reaches out and touches Timmy’s arm. “You don’t have to answer him. Want to make--”

Timmy clears his throat and laces his fingers in his lap. “There’s one that just said ‘Defective.’” 

At that, Nick perks up and Saoirse bites her thumb. “That’s it?”

Timmy shrugs. “Yeah. I thought it was weird because all the others had fairly specific reasons. But this one just said ‘defective.’”

“That’s not possible,” Nick shakes his head. “There’s always a reason.” He sets his beer down and comes to sit at the table with them. Scoots his chair closer and puts his hands on Timmy’s knees. It feels oddly intimate and, up close, Timmy realizes that Nick is probably very attractive once he showers and cleans up. But right now, he smells like beer and dirty hair. “What else did it say?”

“Nick,” Saoirse says. She stands up and gathers their plates. “Please don’t. Timmy, ignore him. He thinks--”

“It’s fine,” Timmy says. He looks at Nick, who doesn’t blink. “It literally just said ‘Defective.’ Nothing else.” 

“What did it look like? How tall was it? Male, female?” 

“Nick, seriously,” Saoirse says as she places the plates in the sink. “Timmy doesn’t want to--”

Timmy shrugs. “A bit taller than you. Male. Blue eyes, blond hair.”

At that, Nick stands up abruptly. Puts a hand to his mouth and asks, “And you disposed of him? When? What day?” He looks like he’s ready to go somewhere. Scanning the apartment for items he needs. “Shit, Timmy, what _day_?”

Timmy’s face feels hot. He shouldn’t say anything and he looks from Saoirse to Nick. Fuck, he needs this job and he doesn’t think Saoirse would tell anyone, but he can’t be sure. “Tuesday,” he says. “He was disposed of on Tuesday.”

Nick’s shoulders slump and he glares at Timmy. “Tuesday?”

Timmy nods and stands up. Looks at Saoirse and asks, “What did you want to make?”

She looks relieved. Smiles and waggles her eyebrows. “Brownies.”

_____

It’s after midnight when Timmy announces he’s leaving. Saoirse is dozing on and off in the arm chair, brownie crumbs decorating her lap. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Timmy whispers. Watches as Nick pulls a throw off the back of the couch and tucks it around Saoirse’s body. Leans down to kiss her forehead. 

He stands up and walks Timmy to the door. Puts his hand on the doorknob and looks back at Saoirse. Leans in and says, “You didn’t dispose of him, did you?”

“What?”

“Listen,” Nick says, his voice impossibly low. “On Monday, you tell him that you know Niki, okay? And that everything is going to be fine.”

Timmy shakes his head and stumbles to get words out. Wants to lie, but knows it’s useless. “Nick, I’m serious.”

Nick shakes his head and puts his hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Tell him you know me and that everything will be okay. Can you do that? Please?” 

Timmy nods slowly. Realizes it’s an admission of guilt but Nick looks frantic, scared. Hopeful. “I have to go,” Timmy says, but Nick’s hand is still blocking the doorknob. His other hand is still holding him in place. He thinks he should feel threatened, but he doesn’t. Asks, “Do you want my number?”

Nick nods and goes to search for some paper. 

_____

It takes Timmy a while to fall asleep. He thinks about Nick, his mind racing with the possibility of figuring this all out. Of going in on Monday and being able to tell Armie he has a solution. That he can help him. Wonders if Armie will hug him. 

Wonders if Armie would kiss him. 

Timmy rolls on his side and tries to push these thoughts away, but they keep rolling back into his mind. He wonders if it would be stupid to go to work tomorrow. He could say he forgot something in the warehouse. His wallet, a sweater. It would be risky, but he could see Armie. He could tell Armie and maybe report back to Nick by early afternoon. 

No, it’s too risky. He shouldn’t draw attention to himself, not now. Especially not now. 

It takes a while for Timmy to fall asleep. For his eyes to close and his legs to relax. For his breathing to even out and his mind to think only of blue eyes and blond hair and 'Now, I think about you, too.’

But he does sleep and he sleeps well. And when he wakes up, he knows that somehow, everything is going to be okay.


	5. Chapter 5

On Sunday, Timmy wakes up and finds his phone in a kitchen drawer. He flips it open to see the blank screen, then lets it snap shut. Taps it against his palm, then goes to look for his charger. 

Has to walk the perimeter of his apartment to find it in an outlet behind the couch. Plugs his phone in and lets it fall against the cushion, resisting the urge to turn it on the moment it lights up. Resisting the urge to see who he has missed. 

To see what he has missed. 

He makes coffee and eggs. Looks for bacon and bread he thought he had left, but realizes he needs to go grocery shopping more than he thought. 

It’s then that Timmy realizes he never cashed his paycheck. He thinks back to how Saoirse had teased him and thinks, ‘Maybe direct deposit wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ but just the thought makes his face fall. Not the idea of opening a checking account, but relinquishing control over his money. Not being able to decide when a slip of paper is exchanged to be useful, when he’s allowed to spend it, how he’s allowed to spend it. 

Relinquishing control over one of the only things that is really his to do what he wants with. 

Anyways, it’s Sunday and the banks are closed. He could cash it at the store, but the fee is astounding, then. Eggs it is. 

He scrambles them and eats them out of the pan, standing over the sink. 

He finishes and showers quickly, the lukewarm water waking him up even further and hurrying him to start his day, even though he has nothing planned. Normally, he would go for a walk in the afternoon, but he feels tied to his phone. 

Realizes he could bring that with him, but then the idea of a walk doesn’t sound as fun. Knowing he could be interrupted, be distracted. By a call, a text Worse, the absence of both. 

Timmy checks his phone to make sure the volume is up. Tries not to look, but sees missed calls from “Home” and “Pauline.” Text notifications. He watches the volume bar go up, up, up and lets the phone fall back to the cushions.

Decides to try and read one of the books stacked next to his bed. 

_____

He tries to read. Really, he does. He gets four pages into a book about a town where the cats start to disappear (or at least that’s what the first four pages are about), but then he rereads the fifth page three times before he realizes he’s just seeing words while his brain wonders if Armie’s absence is known by anyone other than Nick. Than Liz.

He can’t imagine being able to push Armie out of his mind. Since that first day, Armie’s voice, his eyes have been in the back of Timmy’s mind, on the tips of his fingers. 

He doesn’t know why. Or, he knows _why._ He can’t stop thinking about him (and feels awful about that reality) but he doesn’t know why he cares. Why he wants to rush there right now to tell him everything will be okay, that he and Nick will make things okay. 

And Nick. Timmy doesn’t know why he trusts Nick, a stranger in a bathrobe whom Saoirse seems to enjoy but doesn’t see eye to eye with when it comes to Chambers Manufacturing. 

Is it careless to trust Nick? Timmy gets the feeling it would be careless not to. Last night, Nick had held him in place with one hand and a low voice and Timmy had felt compelled to listen. To listen to this stranger when he has weeks' worth of texts and phone calls that couldn’t get him to stay, to go back. 

So, he’s trusting his gut. And his gut says Nick is a friend. 

Timmy closes his book and sits up. He wishes he’d gotten Nick’s number so he could just call and move on with his day. Go for a walk without the fear of missing out on some information. Could call and ask Nick how he knows Armie. What he knows about Armie. If he’s as gentle as he seems, if he laughs at jokes and likes to go for walks and--

“He’s an android, Timmy,” he says to the bare room. Doesn’t want to say it out loud because it sounds so mean, but thinks _he’ll do whatever you want and like whatever you want._

And, god that’s a thought. A foreign thought for Timmy who has spent years being what others want. But not anymore, not here. 

(Briefly, Timmy thinks about how quickly Armie’s voice had softened the other day. How he’d reached for Timmy’s crotch and admitted, ‘I’ll do anything you want,’ and remembers how easy it used to be for Timmy to think, ‘I can be whoever this person wants.’ And that feeling overwhelms him, that remembrance of losing yourself to become what someone else wants, needs, just as a means of survival. 

But, Timmy’s surviving now, isn’t he? Without having to pretend, without having to change.)’

Timmy remembers the bills out the counter, his paycheck in his coat pocket. He should probably get rent taken care of first, then see how many of those bills he can pay. 

_____

It’s when he’s doing the math on the back of his paycheck envelope that Timmy realizes he could call Saoirse. Her number is right in front of him. It would be easy to call and ask for Nick’s number. Make it seem like he has a crush or maybe lie and say they’d been talking about a book when she fell asleep and he couldn’t remember the author and--

No, no. Too many details sound like a lie. He knows better than that. 

Timmy looks over her number and decides he’ll call her after lunch.

_____

After lunch becomes after a quick nap, which then becomes after dishes and cleaning the toilet and trying to read a chapter of the cat book. 

He’s stuck on page seven when he realizes he’s not avoiding calling Saoirse but instead the notifications on his phone. 

He has to look eventually. He can just skim. 

Timmy sits on the couch and flips open his phone. It’s mainly missed calls from people he misses dearly who want to tell him to come back, please come back. 

Then the texts. 

Home: _Timmy, please call. We’re worried._  
Home: _Just let us know you’re safe._  
Home: _You don’t have to come back to work, just please come home._  
Home: _We love you._

Pauline: _i get it tim. i really do. but you need to call. you need to come home._  
Pauline: _please tim._

Timmy swallows.

Punches in Saoirse’s number and waits. 

She answers on the second ring. She probably doesn’t have a reason to hide her phone away in drawers. “Hello?”

He coughs and swallows. Says, “Yeah, hey, it’s me. Timmy from--”

“Timmy,” she says and it sounds like a grin. “You should have woken me up last night so I could have said goodnight. Did you make it home okay? Did you leave someth--”

“No. I mean, yes I made it home okay and I didn’t leave anything there, no. I was just calling.” 

She hums like she knows a secret. “Just calling? Well, Timmy, what are you just calling about?”

Timmy closes his eyes. He knows how to do this in his sleep; it shouldn’t be that hard. Except it’s Saoirse and, somehow, he doesn't want to lie to her. Doesn’t want to pretend. “I just wanted to say thanks for dinner last night.”

“We should do it more often,” she notes. Adds, “Nick seemed to like you.”

“Oh?” he keeps his voice steady. 

“Not like, _like_ you, sorry, but like. Enjoyed having you around. He’s been in a bit of a funk since he, well, you know.” 

Timmy doesn’t really know, but he says, “Well, that’s good. What are you two up to today?”

She sounds relaxed and Timmy pictures her in bed. Maybe drinking tea in her pajamas and reading a book. Probably halfway through it instead of repeating the first ten pages like he is. “I’ve been doing laundry and Nick _had_ been cooped up in his room all day, but he just left. Said he needed to get some fresh air. It was nice to see him wearing pants for once.”

Timmy laughs and decides he should go for it while she’s actively talking about Nick. “Hey, speaking of Nick. Would you mind giving me his number? I have a question for him.” The pause is too long and Timmy knows she’s suspicious. Maybe he can still play it off like a crush. “We, ugh, had a nice conversation after you fell asleep.”

Saoirse sighs. “Oh, yeah? What did you talk about?”

Too quickly, Timmy answers, “A book he was reading. I didn’t catch the name and--”

“Nick doesn’t read,” Saoirse says, and she doesn’t seem to be grinning anymore, her voice taking a serious tone. “Timmy, what do you need to talk to Nick about?”

“I just want to talk to him, okay? I--” he rolls his eyes. God, he should have thought this through before calling. He had all day. “I liked talking to him.”

There’s an even longer pause until, finally, “Timmy, I will give you his number, but you need to promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

“Saoirse, Nick is like twice my--”

“No, no. I’m not worried about him, okay. You will be careful, right?”

Timmy nods. “Of course.”

“Okay, do you have a pen handy?”

He writes Nick’s number underneath Saoirse’s, then asks what she plans on doing tonight. He decides to wait to contact Nick.   
_____

On Monday, Timmy walks into the warehouse as Friday’s promised delivery is being unloaded. What looks to be a miniature dump truck is backed into the building and Timmy has to turn away as the bed starts to tilt and the bodies slide out, the sound of jostling flesh and thudding bodies making his stomach twist as though he’d had too much to drink the night before. 

The driver leans out the window and says, “We’ll have another load after lunch,” and Timmy waves him off. Goes to stand by the new pile. Glances around the warehouse as the truck drives away and, god, there are just so many of them. How can it be this hard to get things right?

He gets to work even though he wants nothing more than to go to Armie. 

_____

Timmy makes a dent in the new delivery, then goes outside to get some air. Lets his hair down for a bit to scratch his scalp, then put it back in a pony. Scans the surroundings and sees no movement. It’s almost lunchtime, which means he should have a good chunk of time to talk to Armie. 

He goes back inside and finds Armie. Turns him on and keeps his eyes trained on his face as Armie sits up. Stretches. Blinks and then smiles. Asks, “Would it be okay if I asked you a question?”

Timmy crosses his legs and nods. “Go ahead,” he says. 

Armie crosses his own legs. Folds his hands in his lap. “May I know your name?”

Timmy lets out a light chuckle. Shakes his head. “Wow, I--I’m sorry..” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Armie says quietly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You would have told me if you’d wanted me to know. I just--” he closes his eyes. “I keep thinking about you and I don’t know what to call you.”

Timmy reaches out and touches Armie’s knee. Waits for him to open his eyes and then says, “My name is Timmy. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. Armie, you can always ask me questions.”

And then Armie’s smile is back. He nods and immediately asks another question. “Did you figure out why I’m here?”

At that, Timmy leans forward and puts both of his hands on either of Armie’s knees. Pauses, wanting to drink in this last moment before telling Armie. Wants to swim in the idea of Armie only thinking about Timmy when he’s off. 

Wonders if he has to tell Armie. If he could do this all on his own, without Nick. But that would be selfish. And the way Nick acted...Well, if an android means that much to Nick, Timmy can only imagine what Nick means to Armie. 

“Armie, I have something to tell you. Do you know someone named Niki?”

At that, Armie’s eyes widen and his eyes seem to brighten, something Timmy didn’t think could happen on an android’s face. His large hands grasp Timmy’s, pressing them into his knees as he leans forward, coming too close to Timmy and he has to dart his eyes down to Armie’s lip. They look warm, supple. It would be easy to lean forward and kiss him and Timmy knows Armie would let him. 

(Knows that he’d have to let him.) 

“Niki?” Armie whispers, then pulls his lower lips through his teeth. Repeats, “Niki? You know Niki?”` His hands are so big that they spill over Timmy’s. His thumbs wrap under Timmy’s hands and Timmy does everything he can to not flip his hands upside down. Hold Armie’s hands in his. 

Bring them to his lips and kiss his knuckles. 

“I met him this weekend,” Timmy says. “We have a mutual friend. And he wants you to know that everything is going to be okay.”

Armie looks like he wants to hug Timmy. Like he wants permission to pull him in and hold him close and Timmy doesn’t know how to tell him, ‘You can do anything you want when you’re with me.’

Doesn’t have time, because he hears a truck door slam and is jarred back to reality. 

Timmy looks back to see the truck filled with limp bodies. One of the workers walking around the rear. He sees Timmy--casts a look at Armie--and laughs. “Good choice, man, but, fuck go in the back like everyone else.” 

Timmy thinks about telling him it’s not what it looks like. Watches as the guy undoes the back of the truck. Wonders what that would sound like. ‘It’s not what it looks like. This is just the android I have become attached to and am hoping to help escape the warehouse.’

He looks back at Armie and squeezes his knees. “Let’s go to the back.” 

Timmy stands up and holds out a hand for Armie. Steadies him as he stands up, as he pulls himself to his full height. Timmy looks up and thinks--hates himself for thinking--that he could take all of this in back. That he could do whatever he wants with all of his length, his lips, his arms, his hands. 

“Come,” Timmy whispers, and holds Armie’s hands as they walk to the back. Doesn’t look back, doesn’t check to see if the worker is watching them. 

There is a back room that looks like a break room that Timmy has never been in. It’s next to the bathroom and it’s similarly sized except there’s a small table and two chairs. A mini fridge that’s unplugged. Timmy closes the door behind them and then leans back against it. 

Smiles when Armie turns around to look at him. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to come until after lunch.”

“Is Niki okay?” Armie asks. He takes a step towards Timmy. 

Timmy nods. 

“And you know him? What else did he say?” Armie moves a step closer and Timmy hates himself but he can’t help but glance down at his chest. Scan over his abs, his thighs. “He can help us?”

Us. Timmy bites his lips. Smiles. “He wants to help you.”

“How?”

Timmy shakes his head. “I’m not sure.” Armie’s face falls and Timmy quickly adds, “But he seems motivated. I’m going to talk to him tonight, okay?”

Armie nods and takes one step closer. Close enough to touch, to smell, to kiss. Timmy wants to, he wants to, he wants. 

“Okay,” Armie says. Clicks his tongue. “Timmy.”

“Yeah?”

“Just trying it out,” Armie smiles. Admits, “I wish I’d known your name before this weekend.”

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Timmy says. “I should have told you my name.”

"I was so alone this weekend," Armie admits and Timmy's stomach drops. 

Armie looks around. At the walls, the chairs, the table, Timmy. Takes the final step and then they’re close enough that his toes nudge Timmy’s shoes. That Timmy has to tilt his head back to look up at him. That he feels like Armie’s presence is throwing him off balance, so he puts his hand on Armie’s waist. 

The touch seems to stir something in Armie, who leans down, hesitates two inches, an inch, millimeters, before kissing Timmy. Before cupping his upper lip with his mouth, bridging the gap between their bodies. Pushing Timmy against the door and starting to open his mouth against Timmy, who wants nothing more than to kiss Armie. To wrap his arms around him and pull him closer, closer, closer. Wants to put a hand in his hair and pull. Wants to make a mark on his neck, his chest. 

Instead, Timmy turns his head and says, “Armie, we--”

But then Armie’s hand is on his cock. Cupping him through his pants. Fingers tucked under his balls and thumb caressing him, working him to hardness and Timmy has to grab his wrist. Digs his thumb into Armie’s flesh and says, “No, no, no,” while Armie’s hands scramble to touch him. 

“You don’t have to,” Timmy assures him. “I don’t--” He almost says he doesn’t want him to, but he does, he really does. 

“I want to,” Armie says. Strokes his thumb along Timmy’s cock and says, “I want to thank you for--”

“No,” Timmy shakes his head and finally pushes Armie away. Pushes him back against the table and keeps shaking his head. “No, you don’t need to thank me. I didn’t do--” He adjusts himself and says, “You don’t need to thank me like that. You can--”

“Thank you,” Armie fills in. “I’m sorry if I was too--”

Timmy steps forward and reaches up. Laces his fingers against the back of Armie’s neck and pulls him down for a quick kiss. “You’re fine,” he tells him. 

He lets Armie go and says, “Just. We should just relax for a bit.” And Armie pulls a chair out. Sits down. Timmy tries to avoid it, but he can’t help but look at how Armie’s cock hangs between his thighs. How his spine slouches, how his legs spread, how his hands cross in front of his chest. 

“So, Niki is okay?” Armie asks and Timmy hates that it makes him nervous. 

Timmy nods. “He’s fine. He used to work here, right?”

AArmie nods. “Did he say anything about Liz? Is she okay?”

Timmy shakes his head. Notices that Armie’s eyes drift to his cock. “I don’t know,” he admits, but he has questions. Doesn’t want to overwhelm Armie. 

“I want her to be okay,” Armie says, more to himself than Timmy. Asks, “You’ll talk to Niki tonight?”

Timmy nods. 

“Will you tell me tomorrow?”

And then there’s the sound of a fist on the door that makes Timmy jump, makes Armie stand up. “All clear,” a voice shouts. “Hope you had fun!”

Timmy gives Armie a tight smile. “I should...I mean I have to--”

“Of course,” Armie says and he moves to the door. Waits for Timmy to open it before walking out.   
_____

Timmy keeps Armie awake while he works. It’s hard, letting him watch bodies be dragged to the loading zone. Placing them in categories and letting them be removed for reasons they can’t control. But he likes talking to him. Likes how Armie doesn’t ask about why bodies are being discarded. Instead, asks why Timmy is here. What he did on the weekend. What he will do tonight. 

When it’s time for Timmy to leave, he kisses Armie’s forehead and tells him, “I’ll talk to Niki tonight, okay?”

And Armie tilts his head up. Seeks another kiss and gets it. “Okay,” he says. 

Okay.   
_____

That night, Timmy texts Nick. 

Timmy: _How do you know Armie?_

He goes to brush his teeth. Comes back to a response. 

Nick: _did u tell him? is he ok?_

Timmy: _I told him. He’s fine. How do you know Armie?_

Nick: _used to work in quality control_  
Nick: _thought i told you that_  
Nick: _i tested armie_

Timmy swallows. He doesn’t want to think about what that test might have entailed. Nick wouldn’t, right? That can’t be part of someone’s job. 

Timmy: _And was there anything wrong with him?_

Nick: _no._  
Nick: _he was flawless._  
Nick: _sorry he IS flawless_  
Nick: _ they made me retest him because they thought i’d made a mistake_  
Nick: _but armie was created to be perfect and he is_  
Nick: _and we have to get him out of there_  
Nick: _what time are you done with work tomorrow? 5?_

Timmy: _Yeah. Five._

Nick: _k i’ll talk to you then_  
Nick: _will you tell Armie i miss him?_

Timmy stares at his phone. Wants to tell Nick to lose his number, to leave him alone, to stay away from Armie. But then he remembers the way Armie’s eyes had lit up upon hearing the name “Niki.” An emotional response that would normally have to be programmed to occur but spontaneously happened for Armie. 

Timmy: _Will do._  
Timmy: _I know he misses you, too._

He puts his phone down and tries to sleep, but can’t stop wondering what Armie’s thinking about right now. If his thoughts of Timmy have been replaced by Nick, or if he’s made room for them both. 

Wonders if Armie is thinking about touching Timmy in the back room. Of cupping Timmy’s cock, his balls with his palm and feeling how hard Timmy was just from a kiss. If he’s thinking about the warmth of Timmy’s mouth on his own and the steady hand that pushed him away when it wanted so badly to pull. 

Timmy traces his lips with his fingers. Thinks about how soft Armie’s kiss was. Regrets kissing him that first time when Armie had been off. Wants to kiss him until he can’t remember how cold and stiff his lips were then. 

And as much as he wants to keep thinking of his kisses, Timmy falls asleep thinking about the way Armie’s eyes had lit up at the mention of Nick. The way he looked like he’d wanted to hug Timmy. 

He falls asleep wishing he’d pulled Armie into a hug and told him everything will be okay, it’s going to be okay.

Everything will be okay.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will pick up next chapter, I promise!

On Tuesday, Timmy has lunch with Saoirse. 

She pokes at her tuna salad with her fork and asks, “So, you and Nick?” Takes a bite and raises her eyebrows. 

Timmy rolls his eyes. “No.”

“No?” She laughs. 

Timmy shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich. Ham and cheese. “I’m not into Nick, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t ask that,” she notes. “But, I do think it’s interesting that the same day you call me and ask for his number, he came home and asked what I know about you.”

“He did?” Timmy asks, and she nods. “And what did you tell him.”

She takes another bite and swallows. Puts her fork down and says, “I told him you’re a relatively harmless warehouse worker who asks weird questions sometimes and if he’s planning on doing something dumb, he needs to pick a different person.”

“Something dumb?”

She looks left, right. Leans in. “Nick didn’t leave on the best of terms, okay? And if you like your job. If you like working here, then I wouldn’t fuck with Nick, okay? I love him, but it’s not worth it.”

Timmy shrugs. Says, “I just think he’s nice,” but really means, ‘Armie is worth everything.’

He thinks Nick would agree. 

_____

After lunch, Timmy presses Armie’s button and then waits for him to stretch. Holds a hand out and takes his fingers in his. Helps him to his feet and leads him to the back room. Doesn’t let go of his hand until the door is closed. 

“Hi,” he says and is glad when Armie doesn’t sit down. When he stands close. “I talked to Nick. To Niki.” 

Armie nods and that brightness hasn’t left his eyes. 

“He misses you,” Timmy tells him, though he almost doesn’t want to admit it. “He asked me to tell you and I--”

And he’s interrupted by Armie’s hand on his shoulder, his body pressing against his. The naked warmth of him pushing Timmy against the door and his mouth latching to his. His tongue pushing passed Timmy’s lips to stroke at his teeth, his tongue. To moan against him, then pull back and apologize, “I’m sorry I just--”

And Timmy can’t stand his apology, his doubt. Grips his sides and guides him (and, god, how Armie lets him. How he just follows his lead.) to the chair that’s still pulled out from yesterday. Guides him to sit down and then kneels between his legs. Runs his hands down to his knees, then back up his thighs. Looks up at him and--

“What are you doing?” Armie asks. A true question, like he’s never had anyone like this before. Like no one has been like this before and Timmy tries to ignore it but he can’t. Can’t ignore how Armie’s cock is hardening, just like his own. How, when he looks up, Armie reaches out to cup his cheek. Repeats, “What are you doing?” but it sounds like a ‘Why.’

“I like you,” Timmy whispers, and then he glances at Armie’s cock. Lets himself enjoy the sight of his thickness, the manufactured straightness. He looks back at Armie, whose chest quivers with an exhale. “Can I?” 

And all it takes is the assurance of a nod and Timmy reaches out to touch him. To take Armie’s cock in his hand and stroke him until he’s fully hard. Until his thighs hang open and he sinks against the back of the chair. Until his lower abs tighten and Timmy pumps his cock. Moves close enough to breathe against his flesh and wonder what he’d taste like. He smells human, that scent that comes along with androids. That fills his nostrils every day and doesn’t go away because they don’t sweat, they don’t get naturally dirty. 

A scent that probably sticks to his own skin, making him smell unnaturally human. 

He strokes Armie until his feet arch and his toes are the only point of contact with the ground. Until his hips lift and his back tightens and he reaches out again to touch Timmy’s cheek. 

He strokes Armie until he comes, or Timmy thinks he does. His cock’s dry but quickly retreating in his palm. Remembers that they make kits for this. To mimic ejaculation so everything seems more realistic. Knows that, often, people don’t use the kits in order to avoid a mess. Timmy wonders if it feels different for Armie; wants to know what will make him feel the best. 

Timmy bends his head and kiss the soft tip of Armie’s cock. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he assures him. Looks up and repeats, “Everything’s going to be--”

And then Armie’s lips are on his and everything is okay, okay, okay, okay. 

He lets Armie kiss him, but pushes his hands away from his waistband. Takes his wrists and settles his hands on Timmy’s hips, Armie’s long fingers snaking around to his back as well. And when Armie insists, “I want to make you feel good, too,” Timmy shakes his head. 

Says, “You are, you are,” and goes back to kissing him. 

____

Armie watches Timmy work again. A truck comes and Timmy looks back in a panic. Smiles when he sees Armie slumped against a stack of bodies. Eyes closed, body limp. He looks like he belongs, but he doesn’t. 

The truck comes for bodies and the driver winks at Timmy as he takes a break. Drops a body on the pile and then pulls the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face. “Have a good day,” Timmy says as they leave. 

The driver snaps his fingers and points at Timmy. Leaves, and Timmy catalogues another two bodies before he sees movement from Armie. Before he looks over and wipes his brow and sees Armie cross-legged. Watching. 

Asking, “Would you come here?” 

And, of course, Timmy does. Kneels down and places his hands on Armie’s knees. Asks, “Yes?”

“Do you really think you can figure out why I’m here?” 

And Timmy nods. Answers, “I think I can get you home, Armie.”

“Home?”

Timmy blushes. “I mean, out.”

Armie smiles and puts his hands on top of Timmy’s. “May I ask you a question, Timmy?” 

“Always.” 

Armie lowers his eyes and traces Timmy’s knuckles. His fingers are so soft and Timmy thinks about how nice they would feel on his body. Strong and soft and smooth and--

“Why don’t you want me to touch your cock?” 

Oh, god, Timmy wishes there was a way to tell Armie just how much he wants his touch. How much he wants to feel Armie’s body against his, his hands. His mouth, god, he wants to feel his mouth. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” Timmy explains. 

“But I want to,” Armie offers. “If I were real would you let me?” 

Real. The word punctures a whole in his resistance. “Armie, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

Later, Timmy says goodbye. Kisses Armie’s forehead and let’s his touch linger on his neck. Armie says, “I’d like to go home,” and Timmy nods. 

Turns him off. 

____

Timmy is a block away from the front gates of Chamber Manufacturing when long legs fall in step with his. A firm hand presses against his back and mid stride, he almost jumps. Looks over to see Nick. “Hey,” Nick says like this wasn't a calculated meeting. Like he hadn’t been waiting for Timmy to get out of work, hovering near his former place of employment. “Where you headed?”

He’s wearing red track pants and a black t-shirt. His hair is combed and he looks so much different than he did at the apartment. Put together. Hopeful. It’s a good look and Timmy feels invested in him now, too.

“”The bank,” Timmy answers, and Nick guides him left at the next corner. “Were you--”

“How’s Armie?” Nick asks. “You talked to him today, yeah?”

Timmy nods and keeps walking. Has a feeling Nick won’t like what else they did today. What _Timmy_ did today. ”Of course. He’s good. He was in a really good mood.” 

“Armie’s always in a good mood,” Nick says quickly. “I have a few ideas, but we shouldn’t talk about them in public.”

Timmy offers, “You could come over tomorrow, if you want.”

They stop outside the bank and Nick says, “I shouldn’t go in, but can you give Armie something for me?”

Timmy nods and looks up at him. Watches how Nick licks his lips. Hopes that he doesn’t want Timmy to give Armie anything but well wishes. 

Is surprised when Nick wraps him in a hug that feels too big to calculate. When he pats his back in a friendly manner, which does so much to calm Timmy’s nerves. So much to make him realize that whatever friendship there is between Nick and Armie is just that. A friendship. 

Timmy wishes he had a friend like that.

Timmy laughs. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Nick gives him a questioning look. "Of course. Don't you?" 

Timmy nods and waves goodbye. Says, “I’ll give him your message tomorrow.”

Nick gives him a thumbs up. Holds the door to the bank open and pats his shoulder as Timmy walks in. “Text me your address,” he says, and then he’s gone as the door closes behind Timmy. 

______

The landlord lives on the first floor and when he opens the door, he looms over Timmy. He’s almost as tall as Armie (and when did he start comparing people to Armie?) but he feels larger. Intense eyes and a thick accent that Timmy has to listen carefully to understand. “Mr. Chalamet,” he says. “I had a feeling you’d be stopping by soon. Would you like to--”

He steps back and motions into his apartment. It’s the same size as Timmy’s, but the walls are covered in pictures. Surfaces littered with knick knacks, frames, notebooks. It’s neat but lived in. 

He shakes his head, “No, thank you, I just came to drop off rent,” he says, holding the folded bills out to him. “It’s a bit of an overpayment since it was late. I just started a new job, so that won’t--”

The landlord shakes his head and unfolds the bills. Counts them, then hands a twenty back to Timmy. “I knew you would pay. Are you sure I can’t interest you in some coffee? Tea? You just finished work, correct? Maybe something a bit stiffer.” 

Timmy tucks the bill back into his pocket. Shakes his head. “Maybe another time,” he offers. 

The landlord shifts in the doorway. Seems unable to hold back his next question. “You don’t have family here?” Timmy shakes his head. “You’re quite young to be living on--”

“I’m twenty-four,” Timmy says.

At that, the landlord’s eyes widen and he brings a hand to his mouth. “Well, please accept my apology. You just look--”

“I know,” Timmy says, trying to keep his voice flat. He knows what he looks like, he knows what people think about that, about him. “Listen, Mr.--” Timmy cuts himself off, realizing he doesn’t quite know how to pronounce his last name. 

“Please call me Luca,” he smiles. “Actually, the drink was a formality. I just wanted to ask if you’d be interested in making some extra money while you live here.” 

At that, Timmy’s face goes red and he shakes his head. “Sir, I don’t--I’m sorry if I did something to insinuate I would--”

Luca cuts him off. “Just some light cleaning around the hallways. Vacuuming and dusting. But, I understand if you’re too busy.” 

And Timmy feels silly. Relieved. “Oh! Oh,” Timmy gives a nervous chuckle. “No, I’m not too busy.” But then he remembers Nick will be coming over. That he doesn’t know what their--his--plans will entail. “Would that offer be good in a week, maybe? I just have some projects at work.” 

Luca nods and reaches his hand out to shake Timmy’s. “The offer will always be good. Let me know, Mr. Chalamet.”

“Timmy,” he corrects. 

“Let me know, Timmy,” he says and then disappears back to his warm apartment with the pictures and the knick knacks and the notebooks. 

_____

That night, Timmy texts Nick his address, then thinks about Armie’s hands on his hips. About his kisses. He’s never kissed an android, but he always thought it would feel mechanic, rehearsed. But Armie’s mouth was nothing but natural. 

He can’t help but wonder if that’s just because Armie is as perfect as Nick claims, or if Timmy has something to do with it. If Armie is comfortable around him, if he really wants to be around him. 

Or maybe he just wants to get out. 

Timmy hates to think that way, but he knows as well as anyone how much you can change yourself to get out of a situation, to escape a reality you hate. 

But it doesn’t matter. Timmy has to help him, has to help Nick, no matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> bartbarthelme on tumblr.


End file.
